


In the Rain, Give You Sunshine (I'll Be There For You, You Know)

by sweeterthankarma



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Isak Takes Care of Even, M/M, Mental Health Issues, set in between Season 3 and Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: It’s grim and unfortunate that Isak recognizes these kinds of mornings so clearly, but it’s the truth, something he knows as well as the back of his hand— or his boyfriend’s hand, for that matter, the hand that immediately comes up to cover his face when Isak turns the light on.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80





	In the Rain, Give You Sunshine (I'll Be There For You, You Know)

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song "Landslide" by Oh Wonder.

Isak gets up first. That’s how he knows something’s up with Even.

It’s grim and unfortunate that Isak recognizes these kinds of mornings so clearly, but it’s the truth, something he knows as well as the back of his hand— or his boyfriend’s hand, for that matter, the hand that immediately comes up to cover his face when Isak turns the light on. 

Isak sees the way Even takes a deep, sharp, almost pained breath inward, and then his eyelids flutter for just a moment, his lashes visible through the cracks of his fingers. Aside from those brief movements, he’s otherwise still, not saying a single word or even bothering to shift when Isak rummages around beneath the blankets, flattening the lines in the polka-dotted sheet as he looks for his phone. 

Isak does this nearly every morning, considering he has a bad habit of falling asleep with his phone next to him , which then leads to him rolling over onto it in his sleep and muffling the sound of his alarm with his body weight, making him snooze for far later than he wants to.  Even always chides him on it, on the way he delays his mornings even more than he already does by characteristically and cartoonishly pulling blankets over his sandy bedhead and crushing his face deeper into his pillow. He’s the deep sleeper in this relationship, the one who’s always begging for a few more minutes of rest before Even drags him up and out of bed with plentiful kisses to encourage him to start the day. 

On days like this though, Isak takes Even’s place. He does it without prompting, without needing any reminder or generated notification from his phone. It’s just intrinsic, an occasional part of his routine now, whether he likes it or not. It’s what he has to do sometimes.

While it’s not like Isak necessarily minds doing it, it’s also not like he has a choice, and nothing hurts him quite like seeing Even like this. He wouldn’t change anything about Even, wouldn’t want a single freckle erased from his skin even if it meant Isak would get anything and everything he wanted in the whole world in return. To Isak, Even  _ is  _ anything and everything he wants, for better or for worse, in every way. Even on days like this. No—  _ especially _ on days like this. 

There’s nothing Isak can do besides be there, try to offer the best of himself and help Even out of the hole, but first, Even has to want to get out. Isak knows this and so he lets him be and tries not to stare too long at his darkened face in the shadows of his hollowed bedroom. He shuts the door and decides to focus on breakfast instead, managing one little task at a time.

The clock reads 11:01 when Isak finally turns on his phone, replies to a text from Jonas, and almost walks straight into Eskild in the kitchen. He’s making eggs, surprisingly chipper for a Sunday morning and seemingly not hung over; the two tend to go hand in hand. 

“Hungry?” Eskild asks, handing Isak a plate like he already knows his answer, and that’s all he says until he finishes cooking and takes his own meal into his bedroom and leaves Isak to be alone.

It’s like he knows Even isn’t a hundred percent today, probably because of the energy Isak radiates himself: subtle concern, optimistic cooperation, gentle sorrow. They know each other well by now, have been through this a couple times before, and even if they never really talk about it, there’s a kind of unspoken understanding that they both share. Besides, Eskild and Even know each other well, too, and Even’s always in the mood for eggs. His absence explains itself.

Isak brushes his hair away from his eyes with the heels of his hands, allows himself a moment to drop his head into his hands and adjust to being awake— once again, he’s  _ really  _ not a morning person— and then he eats. Once he’s done, he cleans his plate, loads and runs the dishwasher, and gets out the ingredients to make another serving for Even, but just before he cracks the eggs, he goes back to his room and nudges open the door, standing between its frames as he checks on Even. He’s laying in the same position he was in before, blankets resting atop his chin, remarkably still.

“Hey,  _ min kjærlighet,” _ Isak says after staring for what would probably end up being a creepy amount of time under different circumstances. His voice is barely louder than a whisper as he settles beside Even and outstretches a gentle hand to rest on his torso. 

Even opens his eyes and gives Isak a weak smile. Something inside of Isak breaks, something he knows shouldn’t. Even is okay. They’re okay. It’s just one of those days. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not a deal at all, period.  _ Even is okay.  _

"Do you have anything you’re supposed to do today?” Isak asks, rubbing gentle circles with his palm atop the blanket.

Even thinks for a moment, gaze unfocused on the space ahead of him, but then he looks back at Isak and responds, “call Mom.”

Isak lets out an acknowledging hum. “Any specific time planned?”

Even gives just the slightest shake of his head, something that’d be indecipherable to anyone who didn’t know him the way that Isak does. 

“Well,” Isak advises, his hand moving up, closer to Even’s chest like an offering,  “text her soon to tell her you haven’t forgotten. You can see if you’re up for calling later.”

Even pulls his arm out from under the quilt and finds purchase in Isak’s open palm, approving. “Just want to sleep,” he mumbles, tone low and disheartened, yet he squeezes Isak’s hand all the same and watches his face.

Isak shows no disappointment or enthusiasm, just acceptance of whatever Even can do, whatever he wants to do. It’s what Even needs and they both know it; he craves stability, respect, to know that he’s okay, to know that even if he’s disappointing himself, he isn’t disappointing Isak. And he’s been told a thousand times that he shouldn’t be so quick to judge himself, especially over something as uncontrollable as genetics, mere chemical imbalances in his brain and engineered medication not being foolproof and eternally effective. Still, Even wants to be better than this, and he doesn’t think anyone can blame him for that. 

Isak certainly doesn’t. Instead, he gets up and leans forward to press a kiss onto Even’s forehead, lingering and sentimental, his hands moving up to lightly squeeze Even’s shoulders. 

“Okay, you can sleep,” he assures as he moves around the bed and slips inside the sheets alongside him.  _ “We  _ can sleep. All day long, if we want. If we need to.”

Even chuckles a little — or at least that’s what Isak would call the sound: a quiet, albeit throaty puff of air leaving his throat, a signal of faint humor and appreciation. Isak’s heartbeat quickens at the sound of it, at the way that Even comes closer after Isak leaves space between them. It’s up to him to close the gap, to choose comfort in solitude or in Isak’s arms, and though Isak just prefers whatever makes Even feel best, he can’t deny that he’s relieved that he chose him.

Even will always choose him. Isak knows this, just as he’ll always choose Even, without even the faintest shadow of a doubt in his mind. Even if every day looked like this for them, Isak wouldn’t second guess for even a moment. 

“I love you, Even,” Isak says softly, just loud enough for Even to hear him. It’s quiet, like a verbal reminder for both of them, though there’s not an hour that passes in any day where either of them don’t know this, don’t feel the truth of it clear and striking in their hearts. Sometimes Isak knows that Even needs to hear it though, needs to feel his love, confirm it, prove it. Isak wants to do that every day of his life, so it’s no problem.

Even laughs again, the sound clearer this time. It’s more of a pleased exhale, and when he tips his head up to rest his nose against Isak’s chin and meet his eyes, Isak can see the relief.

“I love you, too,” Even replies, and he doesn’t have to say “thank you” even though they both know he’s thinking it. Isak can feel his gratitude yet knows it isn’t even necessary. He’s just doing what Even needs. 

“You’re so good to me,” Even says after a few minutes, like he’s still musing over his luck on having Isak here with him. He doesn’t say he doesn’t deserve it. He knows by now that he does. Isak has taught him that. 

“It’s my honor,” Isak responds, and he means it with everything in him.

Rest comes easy on days like this, even if the thoughts that swarm Even’s mind aren’t so pleasant. Isak knows the kinds of things that Even can think, the lies his mind feeds him and he helplessly swallows down, and though they both know that Even always comes out of it in the end with a clearer conscience, it’s still a rough experience. 

Even’s breathing turns level and stays that way, and so Isak’s does too. He closes his eyes and listens to the shudder of wind outside, the sound of Linn passing by in the hall, then eventually to silence. With their hands still on each other and their bodies urging closer every minute, sleep isn’t hard to find. 

“Shit,” Isak remembers just when the rhythmic pitter-patter of the heater has almost lulled him to unconsciousness. “I took out ingredients to make you breakfast and didn’t put them away.

“Text Eskild and make him do it,” Even grumbles, barely coherent from the way the shoulder of Isak’s sweater muffles his voice. It’s adorable, so endearing, and seems so much more like Even. This time, Isak is the one to chuckle, and he follows Even’s advice, getting a mocking pouty face and a thumbs up emoji in return from Eskild seconds later. 

Sleep finds them minutes later, engulfing them in peace and quiet and each other. Isak relaxes at the same time that Even does, though not quite in the same way, but when they both wake up, Even’s better. He gets out of bed within twenty minutes of waking up—  and he spends a fair amount of that time kissing Isak, so it’s not like he can be faulted for that— and even offers to help out with dinner and laundry. It’s not like a flip has been switched, of course, but he’s better now. Isak  knows that he’s  okay, that they’re okay. It’s just one of those days, after all. And they’ll get through it, just like they always do, together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi and talk about Skam with me in the comments or at my Tumblr blog [here!](https://sweeterthankarma.tumblr.com/)


End file.
